


set your life on fire

by twentyone



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: M/M, boneless zayn, buttsex aka sex up the butt, don't know if its working, honesty is beautiful and it hurts, languid is fun to pronounce, louis needs to get uglier, safe sex is good sex, tobacco smell, trying to be poetic with poetic references
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-27
Updated: 2013-08-27
Packaged: 2017-12-24 19:40:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,091
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/943886
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/twentyone/pseuds/twentyone
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Zayn is art to Liam, and there are some truths that can't be expressed in words.</p>
            </blockquote>





	set your life on fire

**Author's Note:**

> this is me trying to be emotional

"set your life on fire and seek those who fan your flames"  
\----  
They’re in Ireland this week so naturally Niall’s on top of the moon. The month had started in Wales with two amazing shows, and so by the time they cross the Irish Sea everyone is buzzing with energy and excitement. Liam’s in a great place – his voice is strong, and it hasn’t gotten to the point yet where their schedules are so packed that he can’t squeeze in a workout every other day. He’s happy, all the guys are happy. Things are good.

At the moment he’s sitting between Louis and Harry on the thick plushy couch in their room playing Fifa on the Xbox. Or rather, he and Harry are playing furiously while Louis tries his best to distract them using his many tricks. It’s near midnight, and they’re still hyped up from the show that ended a few hours ago, too wound up to sleep. In a few months, Liam knows, once the tour has started to get tiring, they won’t be doing this late-night stuff. But for now they’re still energetic, and Liam’s beating Harry, so he doesn’t mind. 

“Fuck off, mate!” Harry yells as Louis stands from the couch and moves in front of the telly screen, effectively blocking both of their views. 

“Louis, move!” Liam mimics, waving his hand vehemently as if by moving the air particles around him he can somehow move Louis too. 

“You two have been having far too much fun without me,” Louis complains as they crane their necks to see the screen behind them. Harry is trying really hard, his neck flushed from the exertion, but when Louis takes his shirt off his gaze flickers to the smooth planes of the older boy’s stomach and Liam takes the opportunity to break through Harry’s wall of defenders and slam the ball into the goal.

“GOOOOOOAL!” He and Louis scream in unison, jumping at each other in a wild tackle. Harry slumps into the couch, dejected and slightly pink, until Louis pulls him into the fight. There is a flurry of flailing limbs and violent curses (mainly from Louis) until Liam finds himself pinned under Louis’ heavy torso with Harry’s legs wrapped around his neck. They relax into laughter, Harry kicking at Louis and blaming him for his loss. 

“It’s not my fault I’m so good-looking, Haz, I wasn’t trying to distract you on purpose,” Louis chirps, and Liam feels the vibration of his vocal cords pressed against his left bicep when he speaks. He feels utterly happy like this, tangled between two of his best mates. 

“You need to get uglier,” Harry sighs, shaking his head, and the three of them elapse into a comfortable silence, the victorious sounds of Liam’s win still playing from the Xbox. The door behind them opens just then and even though he’s faced away from it Liam feels Zayn’s presence in the room like a warm sudden draft of wind. 

“We’re back, wankers!” Niall’s cheery voice greets them. “Aw, you three’ve been having fun without us,” He complains before jumping over the couch and collapsing onto the Harry-Louis-Liam pile. All four of them groan in unison at Niall’s added weight. 

“Get off, mate! You’re effin heavy!” Harry pants from somewhere. 

“Yeah, or I’ll twist your balls off!” Louis adds, and Niall grimaces. Liam isn’t paying attention to them, though. Zayn walks around the couch and calmly takes a seat, taking in the whole scenario with an expression of fond amusement playing across his sharp features. Liam watches him until their eyes meet, and Zayn’s smile immediately widens. Liam’s chest expands with some strong unnamable emotion.

“You look a little too comfortable down there, Leeyum,” is all the warning he gets before Zayn launches himself onto the pile. Another collective groan fills the room, but Liam is laughing. Zayn’s face is right above him, mere centimeters away, close enough that Liam can smell the minty chewing gum on his breath, along with the unmistakable scent of alcohol.

“Hey,” he breathes, quiet enough that only Zayn can hear him, heart thudding hollowly at their proximity like it always does. 

“Hi,” Zayn breathes back, and his minty breath makes Liam’s eyes water slightly. “Missed you,” he adds, and Liam butts his forehead into Zayn’s. Before he can reply Niall rolls over, causing a mass avalanche of human limbs that topples in every direction. When he finally manages to sit back up the moment’s over, and Zayn and Niall are recounting everyone with their adventurous tale of the Irish pub they had gone to. 

They end up ordering room service because Niall hasn’t eaten dinner, and afterwards Harry demands a rematch with Louis on the Xbox. Liam’s starting to get tired by then so he extracts himself from the pile of boys, muttering, ‘gonna get some rest,’ even as Niall protests and tries unsuccessfully to drag him back down. To his surprise Zayn jumps up as well, pulling his sagging pants up a couple of inches. 

“Me too, lads. Niall wore me out tonight.” Zayn’s voice is innocent enough, but he glances at Liam quickly. “You mind?”

“Course not,” he replies easily, but his heart has started doing that thing again. The expanding and thudding thing. No, no, he got over that a long time ago, he convinces himself as they make their way out of the room.

“Gentleman, you have my blessing,” Louis calls from the couch.

“Night, Li! Night, Zayn!” Harry’s voice follows, and they chorus with a round of ‘goodnights’ before the door is finally shut between them and it’s just Liam and Zayn in the quiet hallway of the hotel. As if by some unspoken agreement they walk to Zayn’s room, shoulders bumping gently with every other step, and Liam likes this kind of silence. Zayn fishes around for the room key in his pocket, swipes it quickly, and they’re inside the quiet, dark room. 

“No, don’t,” Liam says when Zayn reaches to turn on the lights. “It’s nicer like…like this.” Zayn hesitates for a moment before dropping his outstretched hand and smiling at him.

“You’re right.” In the dark Zayn’s eyes become two black holes, boring right into the core of him. They stare at each other for a long moment, as if trying to determine the energy coursing between them, before Zayn snaps, shrugs out of his jacket and kicks off his shoes, ambling across the room to throw open the wide glass windows that open out to a wet cold Dublin. Liam watches his slight frame and the ease with which he moves as he removes his own shoes and socks, already dressed for bed in sweats and an old grey shirt that he found earlier that night on the floor of Harry’s room. 

There’s one enormous bed in the room – since they’ve all got their own, even though not one of them ever ends up sleeping alone – and Liam flops on the already jumbled sheets, breathing in deeply. He’s hyperaware of Zayn’s eyes trained on him as he sits himself cross-legged on the center of the bed, following his every move. If it were anyone else scrutinizing him like that Liam might feel uncomfortable, but it’s Zayn, and that’s that. A familiar flick, and there’s a tiny flare of bright yellow as Zayn lights a cigarette, leaning against the window and crossing one arm across his torso casually. He looks so natural with the thin wisps of smoke swirling around his head like a shroud, so at home in his little bubble. So unearthly. 

“You really should have come with us tonight,” he speaks, voice slightly dry from the cigarette. 

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. It was just me n Nialler n a bunch of old Irish men who didn’t have a clue who we were, and they kept giving Niall free drinks when he told them he was from Mullingar.” Every word is punctuated with a small puff of smoke. Liam nods, distracted, unable to focus on what Zayn is saying when those eyes are still staring at him like that. 

After a moment of silence in which Liam probably should have said something, Zayn stubs his cigarette out and flicks it out the window before slowly drawing his shirt up over his head and letting it drop to the floor. He unbuckles his belt, unzips his tight black jeans, steps out of them. Stands in front of Liam in Kermit the Frog boxers and mismatched socks, just stands there quietly, letting Liam drink his fill as if he understands how beautiful Liam finds him. 

Liam has seen Zayn’s bare body before, of course – all of the boys have seen each other naked countless times, so this is nothing new – but he has never seen Zayn quite like this, as the world slows down to just the two of them. In the darkness of the room, illuminated by the soft yellow-white glow of the city from behind him, Zayn’s silhouette looks like somebody took a pencil and gently sketched him into being right there in front of Liam. Lean to the point of wiry, long arms hanging loosely at his sides, smooth stomach, skinny legs. The fluffy shock of black hair normally so coiffed is messy and makes Zayn’s head appear too big for the rest of his slight body. Liam doesn’t speak, afraid that if he does Zayn might disappear, might get erased by the same hand that drew him. Zayn watches Liam watch him with a thoughtful expression on his face.

After what feels like years but is really only a few seconds, Zayn hops onto the bed, sitting Indian style opposite Liam, who feels too clothed in comparison to this vast display of skin. He pulls a second cigarette loose from his pack of Marlboro Reds and offers one to Liam, who shakes his head, no, and Zayn doesn’t push him, just tucks it soundly between his own lips. Liam takes the silver metal lighter out of his hand and leans forward to light it for Zayn. This time the flame illuminates the sharp contours of Zayn’s face, his furrowed brow as he takes the first drag of the cigarette, the four-day stubble covering his jaw and chin and the strip of skin between lip and nose. What a creature, Liam thinks. 

“Concert,” Zayn says, and Liam answers automatically. 

“Niall’s broken string.” 

Zayn nods, inhales, exhales. It’s a game they play almost every day, where one of them says a random word and the other replies with the first thing that the word makes them think of. It had been Harry’s idea originally, back at the judge’s house when they barely knew each other, but Liam and Zayn were the only ones who still played it. During their concert that night Niall’s B-string had unexpectedly popped during Little Things, and the boys had all made a big show of praising his skills while he finished the song. The audience had cooed along happily, of course, and Niall’s smile had only glowed brighter. 

“Dublin,” Liam retorts. 

“Wet. Rain.” Zayn loves the rain, Liam knows. It was one of the first things he had learned about Zayn, when they had met almost three years ago. He still can’t believe how quickly it’s all gone by, and whenever he gets to thinking about it, Liam feels fear, as well. A fear of their time running out. 

“Streetlamps,” Zayn says after a moment. 

“Cobblestone,” Liam replies. “What? They use that word to describe cities in, like, every book,” he adds defensively when Zayn laughs. 

“No, no, that was perfect. Cobblestone,” he murmurs under his breath, shaking his head in amusement. 

“Light,” Liam prompts him, nudging his left knee against Zayn’s right. 

“Dark.” The tattoos on Zayn’s skin seem to pulsate in the darkness, ebbing in and out in Liam’s vision. He feels strangely lightheaded. Zayn nudges him back. “Art.”

“You.” He blurts it out without thinking, which is the entire point of this word game, but realizes what he said a second later. “I meant – like, you know, your art and stuff,” Liam hastily backtracks, but Zayn is doing that staring thing again and Liam can’t feel his insides, thud thud thud, Jesus this isn’t supposed to be happening anymore, he’s over Zayn. There’s a heavy silence in which Zayn takes a long drag of his cigarette, and when he exhales he says,

“That’s one of the most beautiful things anyone’s ever said to me, Liam.” And the way he says it, smoke drifting out of his mouth, eyes alight in the darkness, pulls on something deep down inside of Liam, he feels something in his body align, click into place, organs shifting to make room for this new feeling that has harbored itself in Liam without his permission. 

Before he can think of anything to say, Zayn continues. “’An intellectual says a simple thing in a hard way. An artist says a hard thing in a simple way.’” He glances up at Liam through impossibly long eyelashes. “It’s one of my favorite Bukowski quotes.”

“So you – you say the hard things in a simple way,” Liam ventures hesitantly, heartbeat resounding in his ears. When Zayn starts swimming in the deep end of the philosophy pool, he’s always extra careful with his words, not wanting to end up looking stupid or naïve, even though he often feels that way. 

“I try to. Some things, though, some truths can’t be expressed with just words.” He takes his hands and brings them up to Liam’s face, drawing both index fingers gently down the sides of his jaw. The cigarette is balanced between the index and middle fingers of his left hand, and a trickle of ash falls onto Liam’s lap as Zayn’s fingers trace the bones beneath his skin. He’s unable to move. Even if there was an earthquake, or if the hotel was to start burning around them, Liam doubts he would notice. 

“What truths?” Liam whispers, closing his eyes as Zayn blows a thin stream of smoke into his face. The rank smell of tobacco has become unnaturally enticing to Liam ever since the first time he had stood beside Zayn as the older boy furtively smoked out the small window of their room. 

Zayn doesn’t answer immediately, one hand pausing its ministrations as he stubs his cigarette out, but then the fingers resume their tracing. Liam keeps his eyes closed, reveling in the feel of Zayn’s callous fingertips against his cheeks, nose, eyebrows, chin, ears. A small shudder runs through him when one of those fingertips gently runs along the perimeter of his lips, edging along the corner of his mouth. Liam automatically parts his lips and Zayn slips the finger in, nudging his teeth. His tongue licks at it carefully, and Liam can taste tobacco and the skin is so smooth, ah, he wants more, has to have more of Zayn. 

The thing is, they’ve kissed before, multiple times. Well, to be fair, Louis kisses Harry and Harry kisses everyone so it’s not like they’re the only ones who do this kind of thing. Liam’s kissed Louis and Harry and even Niall once when they were both completely plastered, but this is the first time he’s kissed Zayn like this, completely sober and in the dark and with no one else there. 

Zayn’s finger is out of his mouth and Liam hears the sheets rustling and the mattress shifting and then palms are pressing him down onto his back. He obliges unhesitatingly, leaning until he’s lying flat on his back. Zayn is hovering above him, Liam knows, Liam feels. Every nerve ending on his body is tensed, waiting, waiting. And then Zayn’s breath is on his collarbone, neck, he’s blowing into Liam’s mouth and it’s somehow the most sensual thing he’s ever felt. 

“Truths,” Zayn whispers raggedly, one hand scratching along Liam’s side, the other curling around his shoulder as he swings one leg over Liam’s torso, straddling him. “The simplest ones don’t require much, just a look or a touch or – or this.” 

The hand at Liam’s shoulder moves to cup the back of his head as Zayn leans down to kiss him. His lips are chapped and rough and at first they just press softly against Liam’s for a second before Zayn pulls away. Liam opens his eyes and he’s right there, their noses are almost touching, and it’s the most terrifyingly beautiful thing Liam has seen, ever. 

“Truths,” Liam agrees quietly before pulling Zayn back down to him. This time their mouths collide and Zayn’s tongue is immediately easing into Liam’s mouth, swirling and darting and wet and warm. They kiss slowly, deeply, Zayn drinking greedily from Liam as if he’ll never get his fill, feeding from his wanting mouth. Zayn tastes like cigarettes and vodka and Liam wonders if he can get drunk just from this. 

“Off,” Zayn mutters into the small space between their mouths, tugging at Liam’s shirt insistently. Liam sits up on his elbows and allows Zayn to pull the offending material off of him. Zayn sighs in appreciation when Liam’s bare torso is under his hands, skimming them across Liam’s shoulders and arms and tweaking his nipples in a way that causes Liam’s hips to buck up uncontrollably. Liam mashes their mouths together, kissing Zayn fervently, running a hand through his thick hair and pulling them as close to each other as possible. Warm skin pressed against warm skin as they lie flush against each other, it’s so warm, so right, Liam thinks, and he knows that he will never be over Zayn no matter how hard he tries to convince himself otherwise. 

It’s scary how quickly things can escalate between them, Liam muses, as he grabs Zayn’s arms and flips them over so that Liam is on top. Zayn’s got that dangerously mischievous glint in his eyes, but there’s also something like anticipation, like he’s afraid of what Liam might do to him. Without warning Liam grabs Zayn’s cock through his boxers, palming him roughly, and he hears Zayn’s sharp intake of breath. 

“Liam, I have – there’s only one fucking easy way to say this –“ Zayn’s panting as Liam lowers his body against his and rubs himself against Zayn, the friction barely enough for either of them. 

“Say what?” Liam pants back, feeling sweat form along his hairline. 

“I want – I need you, inside me, now, oh god, please Liam -“ Zayn’s pleas are cut off by a drawn out moan as Liam’s hands yank his boxers down. Zayn wiggles out of them and there he is, completely naked and writhing beneath Liam. Fingers wrap around the waistband of his sweats and pull, and Liam mimics Zayn and kicks his pants to the ground. His cock is stiff against his stomach. “There’s – the drawer, in there,” Zayn breathes heavily, having difficulty forming coherent sentences. Liam rummages in the bedside drawer, extracting a condom and a bottle of lube that he quickly coats his fingers with. Zayn watches him, chest heaving, and his breath catches when Liam nudges a finger into his tight red hole. 

“Shh, you’re okay,” he tells Zayn as he adds a second finger and moves them slowly, opening Zayn up from the inside out as he moans and squirms from Liam’s ministrations. 

“I’m ready, Li, please please please,” he almost begs, a completely different Zayn from the cool, collected creature who walked into the room half an hour ago. Liam rips the crinkly package open with his teeth and rolls the condom on, lining himself up with Zayn’s entrance, Zayn who is literally trying to impale himself on Liam’s aching cock. 

He keeps his eyes fixed on Zayn as he pushes into him slowly, ever so slowly. A strange buzzing seems to take over his brain, erasing all thought. His heartbeat reverberates hollowly in his ears, deafeningly loud. Zayn’s pupils dilate when Liam bottoms out, filling him completely, mouth opening into a perfect o. Yes, Liam thinks. Yes, this is it, this is the truth, it must be because nothing has ever felt so right.

For a moment Liam doesn’t move, just ducks his head and kisses Zayn’s open mouth, wet and sloppy, before pulling out almost all the way and driving in harder. Zayn whimpers and Liam does it again, and again. He lifts one of Zayn’s legs onto his shoulder and pounds into him relentlessly, feeling Zayn’s tight warmth contract and release around him. And when Zayn almost sobs and his eyes squeeze shut, Liam knows he’s found that spot inside of him. He angles himself so that he’s hitting Zayn’s prostate with every vicious thrust, basking in Zayn’s breathy gasps of ‘fuck yes oh my god’ and ‘Liam Liam Liam’ and ‘need you to touch me’, and when Liam wraps a hand around Zayn’s weeping cock Zayn throws his head back and comes with a rippling shudder that wracks his entire body. 

“Liam, Liam, oh my god,” he rasps, nails clawing down Liam’s back as his orgasm undulates through him. 

Liam slows his thrusts until he’s languidly sliding in and out of a boneless Zayn, an intense heat building almost painfully in his stomach and groin, and when Zayn reaches beneath him and pushes a finger inside of himself beside Liam’s cock, , murmuring ‘come on, love, come for me, god you’re so fucking beautiful,’ his mind goes completely blank and he comes silently inside Zayn, their eyes still locked, sweat sliding down the small of his back. The image of Zayn watching him come burns itself into the back of Liam’s eyelids as he trembles in the throes of his orgasm.

Liam collapses on top of him, pulling out gently and tying the condom off and tossing it blindly somewhere. They’re both breathing heavily, and Liam can hear Zayn’s heartbeat pounding rapidly inside his chest. Zayn’s fingers rub Liam’s scalp as they both recover from the shock of the sex. Liam can’t remember the last time he had such a powerful orgasm, one that came from the very core of him and shook every last cell in his body.

After a few minutes Zayn rolls them over so that they’re lying on their sides facing each other. His fingers begin to trace Liam’s face again, moving down to his chest, drawing aimless patterns on his skin. 

“Sex,” Liam says quietly, and Zayn catches on.

“Beauty,” he replies instantly. “Well, a lot of things. But sex with you – beauty.” Liam blushes, but Zayn can’t see it in the darkness. 

“You were right, about some things not needing words,” Liam says after a while, when his heart rate has returned to a somewhat normal pace. 

“’Words are pretext. It is the inner bond that draws one person to another, not words,’” Zayn quotes, tracing a heart on Liam’s chest. 

“Another Bukowski quote?”

“That’s Rumi, actually.”

“Oh. I like it.”

“Me too.” 

Liam thinks about it, realizes that it’s true; it wasn’t Zayn’s words that drew Liam to him, but all the smaller things added together – his eyes, his way of watching others like it was something he could do all day, his hands and the way they moved. And here he was, in a post-coital state with his best mate and it didn’t feel awkward in the least. The exact opposite, to be sure. Liam had never felt more alive in his entire life than he did lying wrapped up in Zayn and his intoxicating smell. 

Zayn wraps both arms around Liam and kisses him chastely on the mouth, smiling contentedly. His eyes droop and he’s asleep in a matter of minutes, holding on to Liam as if Liam is the only thing in the world that belongs to him. Which is true, he supposes. Zayn is in him already, has been for a long time, and Liam knows that he’s not going anywhere. It’s a complicated thing that they have, but for now, Liam thinks it’s simple enough to stay in Zayn’s arms; it’s the most honest truth he’s ever known. 

\--

A week later Zayn comes back from the tattoo shop with familiar white gauze over a small patch of skin above his left hip. The boys eagerly crowd around it, excited to see his newest ink. Zayn peels the gauze off gently and meets Liam's eyes over Harry's head and he smiles quietly, secretly. 

In tiny delicate letters, the words seem to sink into Zayn's skin like they were meant to be there.

'art is you'

\--

**Author's Note:**

> i would give up my left arm to watch this in action. hope someone reads this other than me and i hope they like it too.


End file.
